


Cold Comfort

by wyrdo



Series: Liars, Damn Liars, and Seekers of Truth [2]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Drunken Confessions, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Groping, Leliana is freakin scary, Lust, Poetry, Suicidal Thoughts, Varric Blasphemes, so is Cassandra
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-25
Updated: 2019-06-25
Packaged: 2020-05-19 07:03:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,907
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19351885
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wyrdo/pseuds/wyrdo
Summary: The shit has just hit the fan and the Seeker isn't taking it well.  In an effort to prove that she has friends, Varric bites off more than he can chew.But everybody needs a friend sometimes. Varric learns she has lost more than one person in the worst way imaginable. He is one of the few who has any idea what she is going through and perhaps his sacrifice will be rewarded.Right?  Right?





	Cold Comfort

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SBlackmane](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SBlackmane/gifts).



> Yes, it HAS been more than a year since I posted, I got mired in a long rosemary and rue chapter and gave up to drop a quick drunk story, and then it turned into a really big one, and then my laptop crashed... it's been fun. And I have overcome...dammit.

The entire town of Haven was in a daze. Just yesterday, the sky had exploded in a wave of destruction as if the Maker had finally had it with all of creation. The center point of the explosion?  Another Chantry. It was like Kirkwall, but not.

Varric looked up at the breach and the energy the mages called fade energy leaking into the world, like Varric would know, and shook his head. End times.

He had just left the basement prison where he had delivered an armful of potions and a plate of food to the tired and harried looking spirit healer who hadn't really left the side of the woman who had somehow, if rumors could be believed, fallen OUT of the giant, gaping rend in the world. Handed out, rumors say, by Andraste herself. He hadn't started the rumor, so he didn't know if it was true, and honestly, he'd have no trouble keeping it alive if it would save the girl.  She looked so young there, in the throes of nightmare after nightmare.

He'd heard the poor girl screaming about eyes, and legs and he knew from the apostate's face that she had not yet awakened. He looked past the man, at the girl on the floor. She looked about 13, Shit. From what he heard about the fade, Maker only knew what had happened to her, although the dreams might give an idea. With all the things that could go wrong if you were stuck there, it might be a bigger mercy to kill her.  Blondie was a poster boy for what could go wrong in the fade. And Feynriel, for that matter. The haggard elf looked behind him.

"Have you seen the Seeker?" he intoned, his tone so like Broody's, though not his inflection or his accent.

"Nope" Varric said, giving the man a long look and a helpless shrug.

He considered the apostate again.  He had a feeling they'd be seeing a lot of each other.  He'd need a nickname and Broody was already taken, damn it. The guy was either worrying, talking to himself, sleeping, pacing or staring into space.  He had a perpetual frown and a cleft in his chin the size of the Abyssal Rift. And so serious. All the damn time. He'd already passed on Flighty, but Giggles had merit or Baldilocks.

To be honest, he wasn't sure why he wasn't in there with her.  He'd certainly expected it. He'd spent about half of the trip to West Bumferelden in chains, but eventually his winning personality (or Bianca's) had won his captor over.

As he thought of her, he reached back to feel Bianca's fine grain, the twang of her string and the cold edges of her gears had always given him comfort.

Maker's ass-hairs, he'd missed her those weeks before the Seeker had returned her to him so that he might "help defend the party".  Like two templars, the right and left hand of the divine, and one teamster and his cart needed Varric to protect it from bandits.

Granted one of those Templars had been in the throes of Lyrium withdrawal and barely able to sit up for the first two weeks; But the teamster, a kid by the name of Cadash was Carta, or possibly Carta descended.  Good looking kid, though, if anyone thought to do more than count the braids in his beard.

And then just as their group started through the lower gate of the, well not so much "town" as "ragged mismatched base camp", the top of the mountain above their heads had exploded.

After a moment of disorientation, and some relatively ugly flashbacks on Curly and Varric's side, everybody with rank took off toward the smoking crater that had originally been some sort of mountain top chantry.

Varric was left with Cadash who chuckled, made a smartass comment about humans and not his business, stuffed his hands in his pockets, parked his cart under the supervision of the smith at the paddock beside the upper gate and sauntered up toward the Quartermaster.

Varric looked up and knew immediately there was nothing he could do up there and he followed Cadash through the ragtag tent city and up a couple of terraces until he spotted what had to be a tavern.

Over a whisky and a couple of strong stouts, he found out that the town was so full, he needed to see the quartermaster about sleeping arrangements and that she was outside the chantry, kitty corner from the tavern.   _One town, Two Chantries?_ he wondered

He ambled up the hill, waving to Cadash as he was overseeing some recruits moving his cases of lyrium into the chantry where they'd be locked up.

He stopped, staring aghast at the Quartermaster. Andraste's ingrown toenail, what was it with Fereldans and hats?  All the way south he'd seen Fereldens in hats and it was as if they had all looked west at Orlesian excesses and said "What are the butt ugliest hats we can wear just to piss them off?"

He tucked his thumbs in his vest and headed her way.

"If you have a bid for the Lyrium contract you need to see the Commander, or one of his lieutenants down on the practice grounds."

 _Racist much?_ Varric thought before he schooled his features and winked at her.

"No contract," he said "Just need a bed for a night or two, till the brass is done with me."

"And you are?" the woman reached for a sheet of parchment.

"Varric Tethras" he said

"Right," she said no change to her voice, eyes scanning what appeared to be a chart of the town, tents marked as inverted Vs and the houses as squares.

"Carta or Coterie?"

 _Fucking Racist_ Varric had never met a woman who didn't recognize his name, hell, Tevinter slaves knew his name. 

"Author." He said.  The quarter master's blank, somewhat nearsighted eyes met his "Hard in Hightown? Tale of the Champion? Nothing?"

 **** "Excuse me," a young lady in chantry robes approached him from beside the chantry.  "Did you say you were... Are you Varric Tethras?" Varric tilted his head toward the sister, his eyes searching the quartermaster's, then he turned to her. "You are him!" she squealed "Cara, come here, Varric Tethras is here, in Haven!"

"Are you having me on, Perice" the older sister asked?

The Quartermaster scowled at him and shrugged.  "If you ain't here to fight with the Commander, all I can give you is a tent with the entourage"

Entourage, the polite, Orlesian term for the gaggle of whores, hangers on, cooks and washerwomen who followed an army around.

"Throw in a cot, a blanket and maybe a small chest and I'll take it." he said with a forced smile.  It's not like he was staying long, just till the Divine had a minute to ask her questions.

"Oh no, Threnn, you can't put him way out there.  Put him in the empty tent beside the Singing Maiden"

Threnn stabbed the map with her middle finger, a rude gesture in the Marches. "Ain't got an empty tent beside the tavern.  I got a minstrel, a bard and the inkeeper, plus Chandler" as she spoke, she stabbed the map again and again.

"Didn't you hear?" Sister Perice said "Chandler left yesterday for somewhere exotic, Rivain or something."

"Don't nobody tell the Quartermaster Nothin'" Threnn grumbled, tossing her hat onto the parchment and striding off mumbling to herself.  Varric found himself wishing she'd kept the hat on.

She reached the stairs to the next terrace with Varric looking on, nonplussed. "You comin'?" she asked.

"Not even breathing hard" he mumbled as he shouldered his pack and ambled after the aggravated Quartermaster.  All the while waving and winking at the sister who'd saved him from the entourage.

"D'you think it's true what they say about Dwarves?" he heard her ask her friend, Cara.

He chuckled

They found the empty tent pristine, Blanket folded on the cot and lantern on the chest within stumbling distance from the tavern.

It was small, but so was he.  It would do for a couple of nights. He was leaving as soon as he spoke to…

Outside the tent the sky sparked, the light turning just a bit greener.

 _Shit,_ it would be days till they knew just how much the explosion had changed things, but he was definitely going, once he got the skinny from the Seeker or a Divine Summons.

Threnn turned to go when Varric stopped her and asked for directions to the bath house.

It wasn't till the first wounded came down the hill that he realized how few there had actually been.  That was also when he found out the Divine had been at the epicenter of the explosion.

Then they carried a girl down who'd stepped out of the fade and collapsed.

And here he was.  Varric rubbed his chin and pointed his feet away from the chantry and toward the pub.

Two days later, he still hadn't seen hide or hair of the Seeker.  He'd heard she alternated between the dungeon beneath the chantry _Don't think too hard about that, son_ and the rearward camp.

That was all to the good in his eyes.  Rumor had it she looked alternately like she'd been hit by a runaway stage coach or ready to bite the head off a dragon.

So when he found her alone at her own table in the crowded tavern he was, well, he was shocked.

He waved to Flissa for a brew and then plunked down on her left to the gasps of the crowd crushed into the other tables in an attempt to avoid the mercurial Seeker.

"I'm hurt" Varric said, drily.  She lifted her eyes to his and blinked a few times.   _How many has she had?_  She licked her lips, rubbed her eyes and stared at him while his words filtered through the fumes.

"Oh?" she did not so much say as grunt.  Her voice held as much character as your average tranquil.

"Sure," he grinned "You only come into these places to capture unsuspecting authors."  He winked at her and continued. "Here I thought we had something and now you are, what? Moving on?  Without moi?"

She blinked at him a  few more times and he thought, for just a second there, that he saw some humor in her eyes but it was quickly gone, replaced by simmering anger.

He had to hand it to her, she was fast.  One moment he was lobbing jokes at the seeker to see which ones stuck and the next she was across the table, holding him against a wall by his shirt collar (and more than a few chest hairs)

"Do you KNOW how many died in that explosion!" she shouted into his face "How many STILL are dying?"

Varric was very glad at that moment for the skills he had learned as the youngest in a Merchant's Guild family.  The ones that taught him that no matter how terrified you were, you never let them see you sweat.

That no matter how close you were to losing control of bodily functions, you smile and crack a joke and if you pretend long enough that you aren't afraid, someday it'll be true.

He smelled the very expensive Navarran ouzo on her breath.  It was strong enough to peel paint.

"No" he said earnestly and quietly "because NOBODY comes down that mountain in one piece... But I do know if you drink any more of that stuff you'll spend the next 24 hours staring at the contents of the privy while you wish you could throw up something important enough to kill you.  And knowing you, that will leave you feeling like you let even more people down."

Cassandra gasped as if struck "How do you know..." the mighty seeker collapsed in on herself and let go of his shirt dropping him back on his feet.

He straightened his shirt, "You aren't a hard read seeker, not here.  Not now. The world is ending around us here and you can't figure out how to stop it. Nor will you."

She seemed to fill like a sheep bladder balloon, her face growing stormy again.

"Hear me out," Varric cut in, waving her back to the table and signalling for two ciders. _Never chase something made from licorice with a bitter beer_

"You won't solve this problem by yourself, and you won't solve it without sleep, without friends, and without help..."

"Without Justinia" Cassandra mumbled

"I didn't say that." Varric said but the seeker was shaking. She grabbed the mug Flissa handed her and downed it in one swig.   He had more to say, but all thoughts fled as he watched her throat bob over and over. Of their own volition, his eyes trailed down her long elegant neck to the hollow between her collar bones and back up to watch a few more bobs.

Andraste's non-existent gag reflex, that was some breath control.  Maker take him for target practice, but that was hot. He'd have to make her an honorary Dwarf if she didn't breathe soon.

He was not the only person to notice either, as some few others exchanged looks and the room quieted perceptibly.

The seeker finished chugging her applejack, slammed the mug on the table and proceeded to stare moodily at it as if it had killed her Mabari.

Varric's head swam. The last person he'd seen do that was Rivaini, a feat she'd followed by deep throating a wine bottle while leering at Choir Boy.

Oh Maker, why had he thought of that NOW?  Why was he suddenly imagining another sun-kissed brunette doing the same?

He was definitely headed to the void.  At this point, he wasn't entirely sure the Maker would wait for him to die first.

Varric cleared his throat uncomfortably and the Seeker's eyes left the empty mug and flicked to his face.  Damn his coloring, but his blush was apparent, however, her eyes were blank. She looked at him, but didn't see him.

"She was the best of us." She said.  He supposed, as the Right Hand, Cassandra had become close to the divine.  He was shocked and upset at the loss of the titular head of the Southern Chantry, but how much harder would it have been if it had been Hawke.

"'I'm sorry for your loss' doesn't seem quite adequate at any time," Varric answered her "but in the face of what is happening now, all around us, I cannot wrap my mind around what you are going through."

"This conclave was the last chance for peace"

"Not sure how it escaped your notice, Seeker" Varric responded acidly "But peace between mages and the Chantry, or the lack thereof, is the least of our problems."

She stared at him for a minute and sighed, looking back at her mug. "In a time of war, especially one that spreads so far as this one, it is difficult for people to work together"  She sighed, looking anywhere than at him. "When I was working in Kirkwall, I saw people stop rebuilding long enough to stone a mage who came and offered to help. They didn't wait for the guard, the loyal templars, or the courts."

Varric cringed bodily, unconsciously reaching for his right eyebrow.  "I know Seeker, I was there." Her gold-brown eyes flicked to him. Varric remembered the lies, the threats, the effort it had taken him to sweet talk the dockworkers into putting in, for free, and the utter failure of the guard to maintain control when a lone loyalist mage came to lend a hand.

He'd taken a rock to the eyebrow, but manage to shout over the Lyrium addled old Templar who'd pointed the mage out and whipped the crowd into a frenzy.

"But I also saw," he continued, "Templars working with mages side by side digging through Chantry rubble looking for survivors.  Templars handing their own lyrium to mages so that they could raise the rubble a bit more. Commander Curly up there" Varric waved up the mountain in the general direction of the forward camp "chiefmost among them."

"But here's the thing," he said, leaning forward "None of it matters even a tiny bit if all the thinkers holed up in the Sacristy of the Chantry can't come up with a way to keep the hole in the sky from consuming Thedas."

"Shit," he grumbled "I need something stronger;  Flissa! Ouzo!"

"All of the **Thinkers** " the seeker said through clenched teeth, "died in the explosion"

"Patently untrue," he countered as Flissa put two fingers of swirling ouzo in front of each of them. "Leave the bottle." he told her.

"It's the last one." Flissa said, putting on a grumpy face.

"So?" he grumped back "Name one person in FERELDEN who drinks this nasty licorice tasting garbage."  He tilted his head toward the Right hand "Except the seeker, of course"

Flissa put the bottle on the table with a bit more force than she needed to.  Varric turned back to the Seeker.

"As I was saying, Not all of the thinkers died on that mountain.  There are universities full of them, Countries run by them... Well, except Starkhaven.  Very devout that one, but not the brightest star in the sky if you get me. And entitled, don't get me started."

The seeker had finally had it with his diversions "Your point, Dwarf?"

She was kind of cute when she was too intoxicated to seem arrogant.

"Stop thinking about what YOU lost and focus on who and what you need for this Inquisition you and Curly spent the last few weeks discussing as if I wasn't there."

The seeker's face went slack.  One minute he was telling harsh truths to the most formidable person he'd ever met, the next minute she was bawling.

"You... unmitigated... bastard" before words were lost in a voiceless wail.

_What the what?_

"No.  Hey. Seeker," he tried "It's.. um... It's OK."  He reached over to where her face was cradled in her hands and patted her on the shoulder.

Somehow, at that moment, it got terribly surreal (not that it wasn't ALREADY surreal) because she reached for him, holding him like he was the last piece of a sinking ship.

If the table hadn't been there, she'd have been in his lap.

If he even thought about touching her in any way she would decide was inappropriate he would meet the maker far sooner than he hoped.  So he hadn't, mostly.

Calling Varric 'a bit shocked' would be like calling meetings between the Carta and Merchant's Guild "a bit hostile".

The woman had his tunic in a death grip and seemed to be attempting to occupy the same space he did.  He held as still as he could and focused on not touching anything that might lead to castration and patted her back ever so gently.

A back which he had just realized was not armored.  All she had over her shirt was a long vest, cut rather similar to her armor. It wasn't even leather.

Void, when she'd lured him into conversation in the Hanged Man, she'd still been armored (albiet in the sexiest. armor. ever.)

He continued to absently pat her back, murmuring gentle condolences and absolutely, definitely, hand to the Maker, did NOT think about how that magnificent rack she normally hid under layers of leather and metal was currently pressed against his own unarmored chest.  And her warm breath was absolutely not, and in no way tickling his collarbone and making him ponder Avvar marraiage customs. Not. At. All.

"All right, Seeker," he said quietly, seeing a small amount of attention turn their way "I think it's time you tuck in.  I'm sure you have a long day of saving Thedas planned for tomorrow."

"Why bother?" she choked out, sniffling and wiping her face "Everybody I cared about was on that mountain."

"That can't be true." he said trying to sit her up straight, but she was strong, and uninterested in giving up her death grip, "somebody as..." _attractive_ "loyal as yourself must have friends who weren't there." He pondered how to get her out of the tavern without anybody noticing quite how drunk she was.

Varric stood up, swaying slightly, but maintaining equilibrium.  He gallantly held a hand out for the Seeker, who stared at it, pushing herself to her feet and tottering until she put both hands on the table.

"I will be fine, Dwarf" the seeker said carefully, slowly, and with complete enunciation.

Varric thought to respond in kind to the insult but reconsidered.  He shook his head. "No doubt in my mind, Seeker," Varric said "I was merely pointing out that the hour grows late"

"Oh."

Varric expected she would stalk away, but she instead stood there, hand and hip against the table.  He saw a look of desperation in her eyes.

"Not as solid on  your feet as you thought?" he asked, under his breath.

"No" she whispered back.

Varric leaned forward and then staggered into the table.

He winked at her and then in an excellent impression of a drunk, he oozed back into the seat.

"Shit, Seeker" he intoned loudly, "I believe I have had a few too many Ooth.. uh Oosh... uh... Shots!" he shot her a silly grin and lifted a finger as if to say 'i did it'. "Can ya, give a fella a hand back to..."

He stopped. He had no idea where the Seeker was bunking.  Hadn't he seen the Nightingale entering the Chantry from the bathhouse one evening? "The Chantry" he finished, hoping to the maker he'd guessed where her bunk was.

She nodded slightly, then made a face as if disgusted by his drunkenness.

_Smart Seeker, this one_

Varric had seen a lot of drunks in the Hanged man, so while he rarely drank to excess, any more that is, he could easily appear to need help getting around.

The seeker was pretty solid on her feet for the way her eyes seemed to be unfocused.  She was strong and well trained, the most he needed to do was keep her from tripping, or wandering in every direction as her feet placed in less direct lines following her eyes.

It was a pretty good thing too, she was solid muscle, and while he was tall for a Dwarf, that didn't mean that if she imbalanced just right she'd not go flying over him.

With little fanfare, they made it around the path, up the steps and into the massive building.

At this hour it was empty and dim and she directed him to the rectory which stood to the right of the hall close to the sacristy door.

As Varic put a candle down, he noticed there were enough beds for at least threein here, and most of them appeared to be owned, one was clearly Nightingales, by the piles of leg ties and raven grooming apparatus.

The seeker's bunk was just as easy to find, being the only one with an armor stand rather than a chair.  So he led her over and helped her to sit on the bed.

She grabbed her stomach and he knew what was coming.  He dove for a bucket and held it while enough ouzo to open a licorice factory evacuated her stomach.

Once the dry heaves began, he set the bucket on her knees and headed for the wash basin, dug out a towel and dampened it.

As they ended, he took the bucket and handed her the damp towel to wipe her face, followed by a bottle of tooth powder.

"S'true though" she mumbled "Everybody I loved was on that mountain."

"Everybody?" Varric asked taking the powder back when she had scooped some out.

The seeker nodded, rubbing the powder against her teeth.  She resembled a six year old trying to make a VERY IMPORTANT POINT!

"Both of them."

_Wait, What?_

"Both of...?" Varric tried very hard to reign in his mind.  He knew he was as bad as a Mabari in a boneyard with a tidbit like this, and the Seeker really didn't look the type.

Varric shook his head, whatever had led the Seeker to drink herself verbose was not his business.  He had done his good deed and he needed to go.

He tried to stand but she grabbed his shirt again and the Seeker's arms reminded him of the chains in Kirkwall's harbor.

She was going to spill and he could do nothing.  Or could he?

"Seeker, he said, laying his hands over hers where it fisted into his tunic.  "let me stop you there. I am very sorry for your loss. I cannot tell you how much, but you barely know me, and in the short time we have known each other, you LIKE me even less."

He looked around the room, all these beds, most of them in use, but nobody else there.  Wasn't it late enough? Where were they? Nobody to rescue him from... what exactly?

"Isn't there anybody el.. um... I mean, better? Somebody you'd rather go to?  Somebody with a closer relationship to you and those you've lost?" _Somebody who isn't going to turn your pain into a novel?_ he thought.

She sucked her bottom lip between her teeth, shaking her head and looking down at her hands fisted in his tunic. She had a very human face, all angles and planes, not what he was used to, but with her dark hair and lashes and the kohl she lined her eyes with, Varric realised again that she was really quite lovely.

He waited while a fat tear formed and broke loose from her eyes.

Without thinking, he lifted a finger and brushed it away, taking a bit of kohl away with it.

"Tell me about them," he caved.

"Before she was Justinia," the seeker said, still staring at her hands, or possibly the sliver of chest she'd exposed. "Her wit and charm did what Beatrice's gentle motherliness could not. She..." Cassandra laughed.  Varric had never heard her laugh so shyly, so like the Princess she was rumored to be. "She practically threw us together."

"She had a hard edge that her predecessor lacked.  It was well known inside the chantry that she had been a Bard.  In this way, she knew the life of a common person, and because of that was a better Divine than the mothers raised among the privilege of life in the Chantry. But she had no patience for the false hearted."

"Once," she giggled "on the way to Starkhaven, she fooled a group of bandits into our trap using their own ruse."  The seeker stopped, eyes glittering. "and her a revered mother." she finished with a look like she was telling the funniest joke ever.

Varric could imagine it, and it was rather amusing to think of, but her delivery could have been better.  Some detail perhaps, since there was more than one way to lay a bandit trap. On the other hand, a very powerful and impatient (not to mention intoxicated) Seeker had just told what she was convinced was a joke.  He wasn't entirely certain she wouldn't strangle him so he chuckled lamely.

"So the former Divine was a hopeless romantic then?"

"Oh, she was!" The seeker gasped, letting go of his shirt and holding clasped hands to her chest. Varric was pretty sure nearly nobody saw this side of the Seeker.

"She sounds like a very respected woman." Varric commented.  "I can see why they made her divine."

"She was brilliant." The seeker said flatly and with a sad smile.  "She wouldn't have made such a mess of everything."

"Well then, in her honor, let us dedicate ourselves to trying to fix... all of this." Varric suggested, waving his hands to represent the hole in the sky, haven, and the chantry.

_What_

Varric too felt the loss of the Divine.  And the more he learned of her, the more he realized how much he'd have enjoyed meeting and getting to know her.

He didn't just take her name in vain; Andraste and her maker were his belief system too.  He certainly had no reason to worship his ancestors, or some other long dead cave dwellers who wiped some other bastard's ass or whatever made a person a Paragon. He was no stone licker.

"There is a hole in my heart." she said, after a long silence.  Lifting her hand to her chest again. Right over the aforementioned magnificent rack.

"Are you unwell?" Varric reached for the bucket again.

"It is figurative." she said, rolling her eyes

"There is a literal hole in the sky, Seeker" Varric chuckled "Care to bet me which one will kill you first?"

The seeker punched him, hard, in the shoulder. Then grew serious again. Varric rubbed his arm.

"You jest, but the pain and loss are real." she said, another fat tear coursing down her face.

"Yes, seeker.  I feel it" Varric rubbed his arm with one hand while the other, without conscious contol wiped that tear away with his thumb and found her gripping his hand for dear life.

Her face filled his vision and he leaned back.  

"I know they are Seeker,  I just... Shit, It's just how I deal with discomfort.  I'm sorry. Tell me more." He put his hand over hers and cleared his throat, trying so far as she would allow, to arrange himself into a posture that was more "friend" and less "lover".

She stared at his hand in hers without seeing it and Varric hid his discomfort.

"You have not been up there.  The corpses lie haphazardly all around and the smell of burned flesh, bricks and molten metal lingers."  She choked for a moment, eyes misty and then regained control of her voice. "And I cannot help but wonder if he suffered."

It was true he had not been up there, but he had smelled burnt human before, he'd worked cleanup at the chantry in Kirkwall. But suffering?  He thought about it. The explosion had been fast with only small debris. He'd watch burn after burn come down the mountain, including a templar whose right side greaves, couters and vambraces had all melted to her skin.

It had clearly been faster and hotter than anybody had ever seen.

He considered all he'd heard, threw a good 3/4 of it away and came up with one question that would likely answer her own question.

"You say she knew him before she was Divine.  Were they close friends?"

The Seeker stared at him dumbstruck.  Had she not expected him to try to answer?

"I mean, um, would she have had him nearby?  Did she consider him a friend? Somebody to guard her in your absence perhaps?"  He cleared his throat

"He served her more in a... scholarly sense" she finally answered "but yes, they were close, though not as close as she was to her right and left hand." she said

Varric considered her "I wouldn't have pictured you with a scholarly type." he commented before thinking better of it.

"You are not the only one." the seeker commented, eyes looking past him.  Varric took the chance to try to get her to let go of his hand.

 

 

> _“I had looked for his coming as warriors come.”_ she quoted  
>  _“With the clash of arms and the bugle's call_  
>  _But he came instead with a stealthy tread_  
>  _Which I did not hear at all "_

In that moment, Varric couldn't decide whether he was more surprised that she quoted poetry at all or that she quoted a Marcher poet from Wildervale of all people.

It wasn't even one of Wilcox's better known works. He didn't really remember the poem much, but he remembered it drew one in, suggesting the love was a rogue, or a highwayman but veered off into some mythical transition from "Friend Zone" to "Lover".  Something women ate up like candy but no man on Thedas believed was possible.

If he was ever going to write another Swords and Shields maybe he could pit the friend against the highwayman and kill two birds .... dammit. Focus, Varric.

"I'm sure he didn't suffer.  Assuming the attack was focused on the Divine and everybody else was ..."  He'd better stop…

Another fat tear rolled down her face and she looked about to bawl again.  He tried desperately to find a way to stave it off. They were running out of dry towels and his handkerchief was a goner.

"So, em..." he tried "How did you meet?"

She smiled wistfully "I nearly killed him for being in the wrong place at the right time."

"You, uh.. do that often?"

"Only when they are at the site of a murder and a kidnapping."

This was starting to sound like a good story.  "If he wasn't involved, why was he there."

"He was trying to save her from blood mages."

Varric frowned, something about this story was sounding familiar.

"Did he?"

"In the end. Sadly, by that time they'd forced her to perform a ritual which opened her mind to the thoughts of dragons."

Varric held up the hand the seeker wasn't gripping

"Hold the guy wire," Varric said, stopping her from continuing. "This guy, the one the Divine practically made you hook up with, he wasn't a scholar was he? He was a mage!"

"Oh" the seeker deflated "how did you ...."

"Because every author worth his salt has read 'Penteghast and the Dragons'.  But the author never whispered a word about a love story, and no Author would leave out an actual love story in favor of adding some bickering and extra dragons."

The seeker smiled "You don't believe there were dragons?"

"Of course there were." Varric waved his hand, "There just weren't 5 of them and they weren't High dragons."

"How did you...?"  The seeker was smiling at him like he'd just been revealed as the Maker's dwarven brother.

"I am an author.  A dear friend of mine taught mage children until the circles fell.  No 10 year old, no matter how strong her magic, could control so many dragons."  He said. "it was artistic flim flam. Drawing attention away from what I now realize was a far more interesting love story."

"Really?"

Varric shrugged and quit while he was ahead.  "No. “ Then he realized something “The little girl, she is here, all grown up now, but she was very exact about how many dragons there were, as well as how old they were."

"Avexis survived?"  Cassandra looked shocked and excited, moving to rise.

"Tomorrow seeker, I'll make sure she is sent to you as soon as you awaken, but right now, you really need to sleep this off."

Cassandra shoved his arms away and tried to stand but lost her footing.  As she fell she grabbed on to him. She landed well across his lap. Smiled, then patted his arm. "Tomorrow" she said, nodding "First thing."  She stayed there longer than necessary, still patting his arm.

"Right, Seeker, let's pour you into..."

Suddenly she was holding his arm like a vice.  Just as suddenly she let go and then…Andraste's menstrual rages, was she feeling him up?  Varric froze.

Seemingly finished she patted him gently on the chest and climbed into bed, still dressed., suddenly vacating a lap that had been full of... her... a moment ago.

"Varric" she said as he pushed the chair out of reach and tried to relax all of the muscles that had tensed moments ago.

"Yeah?"

"I...  You are very..." she had this look on her face that scared him more than that moment where she plunged her dagger into his ... book. "You are very easy to talk to."  she said finally, settling for a soulful look into his eyes.  Eyes that moved closer every second.

"Part of being an author." he said, trying to lean away and resulting in her practically climbing into his lap again as she instinctively followed.

He lifted her bodily back onto her cot while she giggled merrily,bouncing at least one too many hands off of his arms and chest. But soon she grew serious again.

"I think now is the time where all good rogues take themselves off to their own bunks, seeker"

"Noooo!" she smiled blearily at him, putting her hand back on his chest.  This time when she started sliding it around, he dodged and she ended up holding his arm instead. "You are a good friend.  My best-es-est?"

"Ehrm..." Varric coughed again.  "Pretty sure that's the redhead."

"If that is so," The seeker was pushing her lip out like a petulant child "Then where is she?"

"Based on what you told me at the tavern," Varric answered honestly "somewhere between the forward camp and the front line."

"How?"  she paused, thinking, it took rather longer than normal "I told you, didn't I?"

Varric nodded "Somewhere between the applejack and the last drop of ouzo to be found between here and Denerim."

She nodded groggily.  "you are a good man, Varric Tethras."

Oh yeah, she'd reached stage 3 also known as "i love you man".

Varric laughed, finally relaxing again.  "Tell that to the Carta, the Coterie and the Merchant's guild and they'll laugh you out of the place."

"No.  Shut up.  You are kind, you take responsibility for things that are not your fault.  You are charming, oddly attractive and you have very nice..." she stopped, eyes moving away from his face.

"Seeker" he chastised.

"Voice" she finished, her eyes moving guiltily from his lap to his face.

"You are a good man."

"Not a Dwarf" he tried to copy her tone the last time she'd used the word.

Her eyes hardened, which for some reason, relaxed him.  "You are sometimes an annoying, mouthy..."

"Don't forget roguishly good looking" Varric inserted into the sentence.

"Dwarf.  But you are still a good person."

Varric gave up on deflecting the Seeker's words.

"Thank you." he said

"You." She grinned, a child again "are." She lifted her hand from where Varric had tucked it in the covers and he tried not to cringe, unsure what she was up to. "Welcome!" She poked his nose.

Varric wondered what she'd been like as a child... Based on what she and Curly discussed on the way here, childhood had been painfully short.

What? He was, in point of fact, terribly easy to talk to.  That and Cassandra's voice may have been the only thing keeping Curly sane as he went through something neither of them spoke about to Varric but which was painfully obvious all the same.

But Curly's problems weren't his business.

When Cassandra moved again, Varric's idle ponderings ceased full stop.  She put her hands on both of his knees and her face a child like three inches from his own.  her muscles weren't quite responding as she was used to and he felt her balance slipping. Thinking quickly he braced her hands, stabilizing her support.

Because the absolute last thing he would be able to handle tonight would be the seeker, his erstwhile kidnapper, face planting into his nuts.

He closed his eyes and focused on teamster butt hair, stone masons bent over their work, half their asses above their belts.  Anything he could to keep his mind, and his eyes for that matter off of the tremendous gap formed by the wide collar of the seeker's shirt, and gravity.

Aggravated, perhaps by his closed eyes, she started blowing hot puffs of air at him.

"Open. Your. Eyes. Varric"

He felt her move toward him, braced as she was on his knees and realized as she began to giggle that she was about to do something painful, rude and possibly hotter than any chance glimpse he might get of her breasts.

He had self control.  He did, didn't he?

He cracked open one eye to find her less than an inch away from his other eye, her tongue already out.

"Andraste's Ass, seeker." he cried leaning back as far as the chair allowed.  Her face still coming right at him.

It was at that very moment as his hind brain did its level best to convince him that living wasn't all it was cracked up to be and he could absolutely survive putting his tongue in the mouth of that infernal, aggravating, cocksure, insufferable, sexy, hot, warm, living and very present woman that the door to the rectory opened and the redhead stepped in.

Nightingale they called her to her face, far worse things behind her back.

Varric leapt to his feet, catching the seeker in his arms and pouring her back into bed for the fourth? fifth? time that evening.

The woman stood there, hand on the door, watching as varric knocked the water glass over and bent to retrieve it while Cassandra waved happily at her friend.

The redhead's eyes narrowed and her mouth slightly open as she took in what was in front of her.

"Leli" she giggled happily "hey there bestie, you know Varric, right?"

A single red eyebrow rose, disappearing into the shadow of the purple hood.

"Your prisoner, yes?" the woman asked, her accent marking her as Orlesian.

"No" the still intoxicated seeker said dismissively, then reconsidered "Yes?" Cassandra looked over at him guiltily

Varric grabbed his cloak, pressing the newly refilled water mug into the seeker's hands "I'll uh..." he stuttered "I'll just be on my... uh..."

"I will see you out." the Nightingale said in a tone that brooked no argument

Varric gulped, his mouth suddenly dry.  If a tenth of what he'd heard about 'Sister Nightingale' was true they would never find his body.

She held the door for him and he hurried past.  As she closed the rectory door and turned on him he thought he saw something like concern mixed with the anger.

 _In for a copper_  Varric thought. "Look, um.. Sister..." he started but she held up a hand.

"Master Tethras, I do not know what you were trying to do in there, and Cassandra is clearly capable of protecting herself, but she has precious little experience with the opposite sex.  If I find out..."

"Now hold it right there, Sister" Varric wasn't about to take shovel talk for being the only person willing to help somebody who lost everything dear to her "That woman, your FRIEND was in such pain that she was trying to pickle her own spleen..."

He took a breath and considered his next words in light of them being his last "I don't know if you were aware of it, but apparently her fella was up there with the Divine and she hasn't had time to process it."

"Maybe if you were in her place you would deal with it differently, but she seems to think that the right way to deal with it is to hide from it until she can no longer find an enemy to fight or a recruit to train. And then she sits in the tavern with a bottle of ouzo and nobody to talk to."

"Only she knows why she couldn't come to you, her best friend for fuck sake, but she needed somebody to talk to and I was the only one willing to go within three feet of her."

"It may have helped that I apparently knew that the little girl she helped out all those years ago had survived."

"Avexis was not in the temple with them?" The redhead asked, looking less angry, and more hopeful.

"Yeah, unless there are other Tranquil elves who used to talk to dragons." Varric said, miffed about her breaking into his tirade.

"You were not trying to...?"

"To... what, Sister?" Varric asked "That woman is scary.  Do you actually think she can't protect herself, even drunk?  Besides, who was the one who was pinned?"

He turned away as every impure thought he'd had since she kidnapped him flashed through his mind. "She just lost two of the handful of people she loved most in the world and needed to talk it out, work through it." he mumbled at the ground.  "I know the feeling."

"If what you are saying is true, then I may have misjudged you," the Nightingale said "But if I find that you are trifling with her, or try to tell tales on her I will come for you.  I will not have you pretending to have..."

"Of course you will" Varric sighed, turning his back to the woman and looking for the door in the dim light.  He lifted a listless hand as he trudged away from the Left Hand toward the vaulted entrance to the chantry.

Some days it didn't pay to get out of bed in the morning.

****

\-------

****

He found the tranquil staring at a soggy green mass on a table while a mage attempted to cast a spell on it.

Varric waited while they recorded their observations.  He waited until they both turned to him, one in frustration, the other with a thousand yard stare.

The girl... woman ... was beautiful, well they both were, but the blonde had violet eyes.

Varric imagined her as a small child, smiling and still in touch with her soul.  And he tried not to shudder at the beautiful -but basically dead - elf in front of him.

"Excuse me miss," he said to the tranquil. The mage gave him a dirty look.  Varric shrugged, he might be a dwarf, but he was still male. "But if you are the Seeker's friend, um.. Alexis, I think she said, could you please go to see her as soon as you can?"

"Which? There are four seekers within..."

"He means Cassandra" the mage said.

"I will go to her at luncheon"

Varric appealed to the mage, also an elf with green eyes and darker hair.  "The seeker thought she had lost everybody she loves on that mountain, yesterday, she needs..." he stopped, his eyes going to the other woman trying to remember her name even though he'd only just said it.

"Avexis" the mage supplied

"Right," Varric said "My apologies, my lady, i mis-remembered."

The mage's eyes grew wide but she quickly recovered.

 _What?_ Varric thought.

Still staring at him the mage spoke to her friend "Avexis, Cassandra needs you more than I do at the moment. Please report to her and then when she gives you leave, you may return. This will keep."

"Yes, apprentice" the blonde bowed and left the room.

The mage continued to regard him speculatively.

As the silence stretched on Varric became uncomfortable. As was his wont he filled the silence, as he'd been warned about the joking, he went for serious.  "Thank you, milady, the seeker, she was... distraught last night and had to be restrained from waking the whole town when she found out Avexis had survived."

"We are neither of us ladies, Messere"

"Why?" Varric asked "You certainly appear female.  Is it because you are Elves? or Mages?"

"Because.."

"Look, mil....er messe... Ma'am, I was being polite, and I've never met a girl of any rank or race who didn't at least for one small moment, want to know what it is like to be a 'real' lady. (Well, except the ones who wanted to be Lords)"

"You know that she cannot dream, Or Wish or Hope, right" the mage asked him with a strange look on her face.

"All too well."

"And that I may never hold property"

Varric wondered if the mage had spent so much time with the tranquil that they were wearing off on her.

"Let me try it one more time, Spitfire, maybe it will make more sense.  I am shit at remembering when to use Serrah, when to use Messere, and I detest calling a person by their race or class.  I always have been. I found out early that if I used the most respectful terms to address a person i didn't know, they might correct me, but it generally led to better acceptance of my.."

"Schemes?" the mage supplied with a grin

"...foibles." he finished, then he grinned back at her "Careful who you label a schemer, milady Spitfire, someone might think you racist."

"Low blow, Messere" the mage chided, grinning even wider.

"Are you poking fun at my size?" Varric laughed out loud.

"Heaven forfend."  The mage had a very infectious laugh.  “I’m Minaeve.”

****

\---------

****

Cassandra barely cracked an eye at dawn, hollered at Leliana to “ **Shut Up and Leave her Alone”** at breakfast time, and finally came awake full force right before luncheon in order to puke twice and then stare into the bucket at the greenish-yellow foam.  Foam which looked like nothing at all that she remembered eating yesterday.

She looked up as a quiet, consistent, and normally very recognizable knock came at the rectory door.  

"What!" Cassandra shouted before realizing that loud noises hurt.  She grabbed her head with one hand, steadying the bucket with the other..

"Seeker Cassandra" came a quiet voice on the other side of the door.  "It is I, Avexis. You sent for me. If you are no longer upset, should I return to Minaeve?"

"Avexis?" Cassandra asked in about the loudest voice she could tolerate.  "Come in." Avexis complied

"Oh Avexis," Cassandra reached weakly for her friend, as she approached putting the bucket on the ground "You survived."

Cassandra clung to her young friend, the tears as close to starting again as they would ever be today. "I feared you had died with Justinia and Galyan." she said hoarsely, hugging the young woman more fiercely.

Avexis patted the Seeker's back absently as she had seen others do when a friend was sad. She knew how to respond, she just did not really know why.

Presently Cassandra leaned back from her friend "I am so glad to see you alive Avexis. Words cannot express my happiness." Cassandra wiped her eyes, her voice gaining strength.

"You did not believe I was dead." Avexis said, correcting her.  "You sent your man for me. He said you were quite upset but I do not know what I can do to help. I told him that, but Minaeve seemed to think I should come anyway."

"My man?"

"Yes." Avexis answered.  Cassandra waited for more, forgetting for a moment the work required to converse with a tranquil.  

"Which man, Avexis"

"I did not ask his name, I came straight here." Cassandra waited again and then smiled.  There is no point getting angry with a Tranquil, she clearly just needed practice conversing with them again.  She probably had not spoken to a Tranquil to do more than ask or give directions since she left for Kirkwall.

"What did he look like.  Was he one of the Templars? a soldier, one of the runners or gophers?"

"He was well dressed, he had brown eyes, red and blond hair, a nose that had once been broken and no beard.  But he had more than the expected amount of chest hair."

Cassandra wasn't sure she knew any humans that looked like that.  In fact, only one name came to mind, but surely Avexis would have mentioned.... wait, hadn't she once lectured the girl about referring to a person by their race first?

"Was he a Dwarf?"

"Yes" Avexis droned, suddenly making eye contact.

Sure she was right about who it was, but now she really didn't know what to do with the information. How did Varric even know about Avexis?

"He told you I was upset?" Cassandra asked.

"He said you had lost too many on the mountain and when you found out I had survived you had to be restrained from waking me in the middle of the night."

 _When did this happen??_ Cassandra had no memory of being restrained.  Something she was certain she would remember.

She thought back.  She remembered going to the tavern and ordering Ouzo and as for the rest of the night, she only remembered a few things.  Laughing. Hugging Leliana. Crying. A few words, the taste of apples and licorice, yelling at Varric in the Singing Maiden and a whole lot of Vomiting.  

That reminded her.  She stood up, picked up the bucket by the handle and turned toward the door.

"Is that yellow bile?" Avexis asked, reaching for the bucket.

"What?" Cassandra asked looking in with Avexis

"Is that..." Avexis said a bit louder.

"No. Shh. Avexis" Cassandra reached for her brow.  "I heard you. I just didn't expect that question." Cassandra contemplated the former contents of her stomach.  "But if I had to call it something I'd say it was green foam, and not yellow bile."

Avexis thought for a moment.  "Did you feel more choleric than normal before you purged?"

Cassandra considered the question, hugging the bucket to her chest. "No, if i had to say I felt a humor i'd say i felt more melancholy than any other."

Avexis nodded, her eyes moved as if she was reading.

"But it's not like i haven't had a bad hangover before, and it rarely results in an actionable imbalance of humors." Cassandra continued.

"I suggest that you eat more like a phlegmatic today than normal."

"You don't think i should rebuild my choler?"

“No” Avexis shook her head

"Because?"

"Because you have clearly purged the excess yellow bile for now and need to build up phlegm to balance what remains."

Cassandra nodded, considering what to eat for luncheon and then something came to her.  "Avexis, when i left for Kirkwall, you weren't a physik. How much training have you had in the last few months?"

"All of the tranquil have done shifts with the healers and physiks and Minaeve asked us to read Galen and Avicenna in order to be more helpful while helping out there."

"Do they let you diagnose?"

"No. But they do ask us to tell them everything we see that may be relevant."

"Well," Cassandra shrugged, "I can't see how a bit more patience and empathy could hurt me, so I'll give it a try, however at the moment, anything I eat would just come back up." Cassandra rubbed her stomach, then dumped the bucket into the larger one by the door.

"So let us sit and talk for a bit." Cassandra said.

"Yes, seeker Cassandra," Avexis said, handing Cassandra a glass of water as she had so many times before in Galyan's study.

****

\----------

****

Varric looked up and smiled as Cassandra pushed out of the chantry with the blonde.  The seeker was smiling.

"She remembers nothing, you know?"

Somebody was standing in the sun, but he recognized the voice.  He looked in the general direction of the face but didn't bother shading his eyes.  She was doing it to establish her power and he wasn't going to bow to it. Besides her face didn't matter, his did.

"I am not surprised.  She was pretty far gone by the time I convinced her to leave the Singing Maiden."

"Why do you smile then when you know she isn't likely to even remember enough to thank you."

"Let me ask you, Sister.  You were with us when the mountain exploded. You've seen her more than I have since that moment.  Have you seen her smile since then? Just once?"

The Nightingale said nothing, so he continued.

"I doubt she's the only one who lost everything on that mountain, but she's the only one who has now found somebody she thought she'd lost.  It took me five minutes to give her that." Varric shrugged "and now she's not contemplating the sharp edge of her sword anymore."

"What do you get out of this?"

"Well the Left hand, that's you, mind, gets a right hand to help with... whatever you two and the Antivan have going on in the Sacristy.  One who isn't maudlin and suicidal. Can't that be enough?"

The figure crossed its arms and shifted her posture.  Her face was in shadow, but she may have narrowed her eyes.

In response, Varric did the same.  Sure the woman could kill him in his sleep, but doing so could affect relations with not just the Merchant's guild, but due to certain investments on his part, namely his editor, the Coterie and the Carta.

And that could affect her pet Templar's dependence on something only found in Orzammar.  He raised an eyebrow.

She moved into a ready stance and he swallowed.  "Fine." he raised a hand, "She's not the only one who has lost somebody important to them."

“Like Bianca?” Varric's good mood crashed.

"No" he said, turning his back on her.  Let her kill him in his sleep. He had no reason to stay.

He didn't even stop at his tent.  Just turned his steps toward the gate.  He could lose himself in the entourage and make his way back to Amaranthine without anybody the wiser.

He shoved his hands in his sleeves and headed for the gate.

"Varric!" He knew the accent, but was no longer in the mood to talk to anybody, let alone the seeker.

He heard her running and knew she'd catch up. At least she was in armor today. However She wasn't going to let him avoid this conversation.

When she reached him, the seeker wasn't panting.  Thank the tender mercies. But she hadn't run far.

"Avexis told me you sent her to me today."

"Me?" he asked.

"Name another dwarf with reddish hair."

"The one with the Freckles.  The scout." he answered.

"She lacks the brown eyes, the broken nose" Cassandra was counting on her fingers.  "and the chest hair."

"The stone mason." he said.

"Ah, yes," Varric could hear her smile "and she specifically mentioned the lack of a beard.  Stop this nonsense immediately and accept my thanks."

"Your... what?"

"My thanks." the seeker said, stopping his forward momentum by grabbing his shoulder. "I do not know how you knew that I thought she was dead, but thank you for sending her to me."  The seeker graced him with that smile again and he rethought his intention to leave.

"Any time, Seeker." he said, deciding never to mention how talkative and... touch-ative she became on ouzo and applejack. Not even to her.

 

\------

****

The closest Varric ever came to revealing what happened that night to the public was the forward to his book about the inquisition:

 

> _No one knows exactly how many died at the conclave.  We'll be piecing the bodies together into the next age._
> 
> _What we do know, is that each of them was a mother, a daughter, a son, a father, a congregant, a friend, a leader, follower, lover, husband, wife or enemy. What I do know is that in the time it took me to walk into the lower gate of Haven all of Thedas lost somebody._
> 
> _It was not just Divine Justinia who fell, people tend to forget that._
> 
> _Thousands of people died in that one moment.  I was nearly one of them. But this isn't my story.  It is about the lone survivor of the cataclysm. A woman who stepped out of the fade, marked by a god and ended up leading the fight to stop a crazy darkspawn magister from crowning himself a god and ending the world._
> 
> _It is her story, but it is FOR them._
> 
> _May they never be forgotten._

**Author's Note:**

> Cassandra quotes the same poem that the titles for all of my Cassandra/Galyan stories are from. [Loves Coming](http://www.ellawheelerwilcox.org/poems/plovesco.htm) by Ella Wheeler Wilcox. Varric is not a fan. For those who love Wheeler, I apologize, but he has a point. I do not share it, but he has a point nonetheless.
> 
> this was quasi prompted by SBlackmane. I'm not sure why I went so far back, but possibly just because so few vignettes happen in haven and even fewer between the time the herald is brought down the mountain and the time s/he awakens.
> 
> But if there is one time that Cass would feel down enough to get wasted, the day she realizes Galyan was up there with Justinia would be the one.


End file.
